Speak No Evil

by Anne Crosby Tanya

  “Just like that,” George affirmed. “Flo was adamant that no one but an Aldridge sit at the paper’s helm and she thought it should be Caroline.”

  A shiver jetted down Caroline’s spine. “Can she do this?”

  George nodded. “This is your mother’s last will and testament,” he said. “That’s what it dictates. That’s what I intend to carry out.”

  The room fell awkwardly silent.

  Caroline glanced back to find that Sadie had made her way out into the hall with Josh’s help. She was sobbing quietly, clutching his shoulder.

  Augusta turned on Savannah suddenly, her angry blue eyes narrowed. “Did you know about this? You always seem to know everything before we do!”

  Savannah’s eyes widened. “Of course not!”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet!” Augusta stood and grabbed her purse. “Well, I don’t intend to sit here for another minute. I’m not going to let mother derail my life from the grave! This is the biggest pile of dog shit I have ever heard!” She pushed Caroline’s hand away when Caroline reached for her again. “Get off me!”

  “Augie! Where are you going?”

  Augusta didn’t bother turning. “Where do you think?” she said defiantly as she marched straight for the door. “I have a plane to catch!”

  Chapter Four

  Augusta talked Josh into taking her back to the house and from there, suitcases packed, went straight to Charleston International Airport.

  One of two things would happen now: After Augusta landed in New York, she’d think about her hasty decision, reconsider, maybe dawdle a bit so her capitulation didn’t seem quite so easily won and then she’d turn around and come back to Charleston.

  On the other hand, she might mean every word she’d said and nothing anyone could say would change her mind—in which case, they could all kiss everything good-bye—everyone except Sadie and Josh, of course. Realizing it was a distinct possibility, Caroline spent some time contemplating that particular scenario while she unpacked her suitcase and took a hot bath.

  Feeling like an interloper in the house she’d grown up in, she sat immersed in her mother’s antique porcelain claw-foot tub, with her feet propped on the ironwork fixtures.

  When you got right down to it, not much would change. Neither she nor her sisters had ever asked much of Flo—not that Flo wouldn’t have given them whatever they needed. It was simply that . . . to need their mother somehow seemed unacceptable.

  If Augusta decided to return, Caroline would have to go to Dallas to make arrangements and put her own life on hold. She had already taken a leave of absence from her position at Oliver-Heber Books, and she still had to figure out what to do about her apartment, but that wasn’t what preoccupied her at the moment. What tied her stomach in knots was the simple fact that, despite all their conflicts, Flo had placed her at the helm of the Tribune.

  How could she ever have guessed her mother’s intent? She wasn’t a mind reader and Flo had never once encouraged her involvement with the paper. Caroline had finagled a position there all on her own, and for the two years she’d worked on the Tribune before leaving for college, Flo had charged through the halls, barely speaking to her—not unlike their life at home. After Caroline had finished her education, her mother had simply pushed her away. Never had she for one second hinted that she’d wanted Caroline to come back to the paper—much less to run it someday—and Caroline had often imagined her mother felt the family’s legacy would die with her. Maybe it still would . . . but right now Caroline felt nervous, excited, guilty, elated and ashamed. Had she misjudged her mother?

  Who the hell was Florence Willodean Aldridge?

  It was too late to know.

  Tears pricked at Caroline’s eyes.

  Ducking beneath the now tepid water, she rinsed away all evidence of her sorrow, denying her tears, and rose from the tub, grabbing her mother’s fluffy peach, monogrammed bathrobe. Shrugging into it, she decided she’d feel much better once she had her own belongings shipped from Dallas, instead of appropriating items she would never have considered borrowing while her mother was alive. It made her feel like a usurper. A pretender.

  Instead of searching for Flo’s hairdryer in the immaculate master bathroom, she went to retrieve her own from her suitcase, where she’d returned it after using it this morning. For the first time since arriving, she took a moment to explore her mother’s bedroom.

  Photos of Caroline, Augusta and Savannah occupied nearly every corner of every piece of furniture, from the antique Georgian nightstand to the shell-colored walls. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t a single photograph of their father amidst the bunch. There were a few of Sadie and Josh and one of Tango when he was younger. He was standing on the pier as though guarding the house from whatever might emerge from the marsh. Distracted by the photographer, Tango peered back with astute ebony eyes. Flo had had a soft spot for animals. She’d treated the dog as though he were her child . . . her good little boy, she had called him . . . in just the same tone she had reserved for Sammy. Caroline set down the photograph, shoving it back behind a photo of Savannah dressed as the star of Bethlehem for her third-grade Christmas play.

  “What are you doing?”

  The grown-up Savannah stood in the doorway, watching Caroline with stormy gray eyes, eyes that had an uncanny resemblance to their mother’s.

  Caroline lifted one corner of her mouth into a tired smile. “Snooping.”

  “Funny, how that was never a temptation while she was alive.”

  “Jesus, no!” Caroline exclaimed. “This room was—still is—a freakin’ museum.”

  Savannah reached up, hanging on the doorframe, a girlish gesture that seemed completely incongruous with her womanly curves. Her tiny waist accentuated full breasts. Caroline’s were sadly lacking in comparison.

  “Hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  Savannah looked crushed. “I was hoping you might want to head over to the Shack. I haven’t had good Lowcountry oysters in a while and I’m craving ’em somethin’ awful.”

  Unlike Caroline and Augusta, Savannah had never lost her Southern drawl, but it seemed thicker today, as though she had already settled in for the long haul. As for the oysters, Caroline had had better than the clumpy, dirty Lowcountry variety, but she didn’t say so. “There’s more in that fridge than all of us can eat in a year.”

  Savannah grinned. “Good thing since we’re stuck here, huh?”

  Caroline shrugged. “That’s really up to Augusta, isn’t it?”

  Savannah brushed the top of the doorframe with her fingertips, feeling for dust. It was the one thing she’d inherited from their parents that Caroline envied—their dad’s height—or at least a bit of it. At five-eight, Savannah was the tallest of the three sisters. Caroline was barely five-three and to look like anyone’s boss, she had to wear at least two-and-a-half-inch heels.

  The disappointment lingered in Savannah’s tone. “I guess.”

  Caroline blinked, realizing suddenly that her baby sister was asking for her attention. She reconsidered. “I suppose we could go.”

  Savannah’s eyes widened hopefully.

  “But I didn’t bring anything to wear.” The humidity of Charleston in late spring and summer was unforgettable, but somehow she had forgotten.

  Savannah’s eyes brightened. “Come on! There’ll be a breeze. I’ll let you borrow one of my blouses.” Her lips curved a little impishly. “I probably owe you one anyway.”

  Briefly, Caroline considered the chances of running into a certain someone at the Shack. He lived near there, she knew, but was that really how she intended to live the rest of her life? Avoiding Jack Shaw?

  No.

  “My treat,” Savannah persisted.

  Caroline lifted a brow. “Sell that book already?”

  “No, but something tells me Augie will come home so her broke-ass little sister won’t have to live on ramen noodles the rest of her life—anyway, by the looks of you, you’re not exactly going to
eat me out of my last dime.”

  Caroline frowned. “What is it with everyone and my weight? All right,” she relented. “Let’s go get some greasy seafood!”

  Savannah clapped joyfully. “Yeah!” she said, and the sight of her honest smile immediately bolstered Caroline’s spirits.

  On his way out of Folly, Jack stopped at the corner of Center Street and East Ashley, ripping one of the homemade posters off the telephone pole. He folded the piece of paper and placed it in his pocket and then fished out a half-mauled pack of gum—his alternative to cigarettes. Unwrapping a piece, he placed it in his mouth, considering the Hutto girl.

  As soon as possible, he’d find out when and how she’d disappeared. He’d learned to trust his intuition and something about her disappearance was chafing him like sand in his shoes. Until he looked into it, he knew it wouldn’t go away.

  There was plenty enough opportunity for a kid to drown in this town. They were surrounded by water—the Folly River on one side, the Atlantic Ocean on the other, with some of the most dangerous currents on the East Coast. A kid without a chaperone could easily find herself in way over her head—literally. In fact, he once saw a grown man get a face full of sand while he stood ankle-deep in the surf.

  Still, if the parents were sure she hadn’t drowned, maybe they were right.

  At the moment, he was on his way downtown to see Kelly—more sand in his shoes he needed to dump—but as he slid into his car and started to shut the door, he noticed the lemon-yellow vintage ’78 Town Car parked in front of the Shack. The model was the last of the full-sized editions before Lincoln shrank them in 1980. The pristine, elongated torso had earned the lust of most local auto collectors and was nearly as celebrated as its late owner. He didn’t need to see the plates to know whose it was. But the car’s usual driver could not be behind the wheel, which meant there was a pretty good chance one of Flo’s daughters had driven it here.

  It was almost too much to resist.

  His brain filled with thoughts—all too tempting—and he pulled the car door shut and turned onto Center Street, searching for open spots around the Shack. He rolled slowly past a vacant parking spot behind the Lincoln, paralyzed by indecision. He pulled the car to a stop for a moment as he chewed fiercely on his gum, contemplating whether to park.

  He’d been meaning to quit smoking for ages, but the fact that he was doing so right now irked him more than Kelly’s constant calls.

  Caroline didn’t want to see him. That much was clear.

  So why was he skulking around her car? He was acting like a high school kid with a crush and he didn’t like it one bit. Was he looking for another argument? Would that make him happy?

  Hell, no.

  He stepped on the gas, reminding himself there were old people and kids walking the dusky streets. Gritting his teeth almost as hard as he did the steering wheel, he refused to look into the rearview mirror as he put distance between himself and the Shack, but now he was angry, his mood lowering like the sun setting over Folly’s wetlands.

  A flock of seabirds scattered from a patch of dry land near the roadside, as though fleeing from his mood. He passed the boat Folly’s denizens used as a billboard and read the words “She said yes!” on its hull, painted in electric blue over a whitewashed patch that covered last week’s artwork. He clenched his jaw, wondering what silly kid had thought that message worth advertising. Almost weekly the messages changed, each a celebration of new love, a recent engagement, the birth of a child. Jack usually turned a blind eye to them all, preferring not to remember how it felt to love someone that joyfully. Today, he couldn’t find his usual detachment.

  Maybe this was as good as it was going to get for him?

  Maybe he should give Kelly a chance?

  Maybe he needed to see a shrink?

  Maybe, but all he wanted to do right now was see if Caroline’s mouth still tasted as sweet as he remembered.

  Seated on the patio, with a bucket of crab legs, a pail of oysters and a plate brimming with boiled shrimp, Caroline and Savannah avoided any and all discussion of the will. Neither had had any opportunity to process the morning’s proceedings anyway and it seemed pointless to talk about definitive plans without knowing what Augusta intended to do. Whether they liked it or not, the ball was in Augusta’s court. So for the time being, Caroline decided she would reacquaint herself with her baby sister over the Shack’s daily special.

  “I’m glad you talked me into this,” she admitted. “I’d forgotten how peaceful it is out here.”

  The sun was close to setting and the entire sky was awash with color. Too bad they were seated inside on the screened porch. At least they had fans blowing quietly over them.

  Savannah peeled a massive shrimp. “There’s something really special about the smell of the ocean, isn’t there?”

  “I don’t think that’s the ocean,” Caroline contended, scrunching her nose. She couldn’t smell much of anything over the scent of cooked shellfish.

  Savannah laughed. “You have a point.” She sucked in a deep breath and hiked her shoulders, breathing it all in. “Still, I love it!”

  Caroline wrestled with her crab leg, snapping it at the joints and burrowing out as much of the meat as she could get to. She tried to snap the thicker middle where the juiciest meat remained, but it wouldn’t give. Caroline eyed the stubby crab leg with a bit of annoyance. “There’s no way I’m going to be defeated by a dead crustacean !”

  Savannah handed her the crab cracker.

  She used it to snap the leg and set it down on the table. “You have to wonder why people love these things so much.” She lifted her prize after pulling out a healthy chunk of crabmeat. “It’s almost too much work.”

  As Caroline went after another crab leg, her cell phone rang at the bottom of her purse. The old-fashioned and very loud ring drew attention. A crotchety-looking old man eyed her with narrowed eyes. “Damn it!” She grimaced at the thought of putting stinky crab juice in her purse.

  “You should get that,” Savannah suggested when Caroline didn’t move fast enough to retrieve it.

  Caroline kicked her purse toward Savannah. “My hands are messy. Will you?”

  Savannah grabbed a batch of napkins and handed them to her. “It’s probably Augusta. I’m not ready to talk to her yet, but you shouldn’t leave her wondering.”

  Caroline took the napkins and eyed her baby sister. No doubt she was right. It probably was Augusta. Somehow, Savannah seemed to have a sense for these things and Caroline had stopped asking how a long time ago. She wiped her hands and reached into her purse. “What makes you think I want to talk to her? She was pretty rude all weekend.”

  Savannah’s gaze met Caroline’s as the phone stopped ringing. “She’s hurting, the same as we are, Caroline. She just doesn’t know how to show it.”

  Caroline peered down at the number. “Augusta.” She resented having to jump at Augusta’s bidding, but Savannah was right—on both accounts—the last thing they wanted to do was make Augusta wonder—especially when they needed something from her. The phone had stopped ringing before she could answer, so she hit the talk button to return the call.

  Augusta answered on the first ring. “What are you guys doing?”

  Caroline tried not to sound annoyed, but her tone betrayed her. “We’re at the Shack, celebrating your birthday.”

  On the other end of the phone, Augusta sighed heavily. “Sorry about earlier. It just took me by surprise, you know. Pissed me off.”

  Caroline held her tongue, certain that anything she might say would only make matters worse.

  “But I thought about it on the flight,” Augusta continued. “It’s not like either of you asked for this either.”

  Savannah dug into the remaining oysters, searching for missed opportunities while she pretended to ignore their conversation.

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “Is Sav mad at me?”

  Caroline glanced at Savannah, wondering from whom she might h
ave inherited her unflappable patience. “No.”

  Another belabored sigh sounded in Caroline’s ear. “Obviously I’m coming back.”

  Caroline released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That’s good. When?”

  “I need maybe a week here.”

  Caroline felt another surge of relief. Augusta hadn’t even taken her “list of rules” with her. She hadn’t so much as looked at them and as ridiculous as it seemed, there were stipulations about how long any of them could be away without prior arrangement. As always, their mother had considered every detail.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I’m not happy about it, but I’ll be back next week. Tell Sav I said sorry, okay?”

  “I will. She says to tell you happy birthday.”

  Savannah eyed Caroline over the oyster she was inspecting, raising a brow.

  “Tell her I said thank you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  “Bye.” Caroline ended the call and took in a deep breath. “Holy shit, so she changed her mind in record time!”

  Savannah twisted her oyster knife into one of the hinges in the cluster in her hand and popped open the shell, revealing her withered prize. “Yeah, well I knew she’d come around.” She fished out the shriveled oyster and held it up in disgust. “Twenty-seven million dollars can be quite persuasive. Hey, let’s order margaritas! We have celebrating to do!”

  “If you can call it that.”

  Savannah shrugged. “If you can call it that.”

  The waiter came by and cleared their table, took their drink order and after a few moments, brought back two margaritas in thick blue-rimmed cocktail glasses.

  Caroline raised her glass and proffered it to Savannah. “To Florence Willodean Aldridge,” she said.

  Savannah raised her glass, clinking it against Caroline’s. “To Mother.”

  Chapter Five

  The Chinese had a word for souls who were condemned to suffer an insatiable desire for more than they could consume: ègu, they were called. Hungry ghosts, depicted with protruding bellies and tiny mouths—teardrop-shaped entities with bottomless chasms in place of souls and eternally ravenous appetites that could never be appeased.